süße serienmörder
by womanning
Summary: "You act on your own, Dr. Tenma. You are married to sin." tenma/johan one-shot.


süße serienmörder | _monster_ | tenma/johan | words

_Like a light, I'm_

_Luring you._

_Sneak up on you, really quiet,_

_Whisper, "Am I what your heart desires?"_

…

_Baby, I'm a sociopath,_

_Sweet serial killer._

_On the warpath,_

_'Cause I love you_

_Just a little too much._

He comes as a woman, all gold-gilded hair and pomegranate lips, with a foot out Tenma's door, the other in. In a trance, rather than hesitation, he stands there, eyes on t-shirt clad shoulders and an aquiline nose turned away, avoiding wandering eyes. The doctor focuses on the painting hanging on the west wall of his bedroom illustrating _Opera Plage_.

The coasts of Nice are as blue as Johan Liebert's eyes.

"You've given up on being surprised, Dr. Tenma." It's not a question and Johan's relaxed tone rests thick down Tenma's spine—yes, yes, he's given up, with no one to blame but the devil in a red dress.

Tenma turns, eyes on eyes.

"Is it"—he waves his hand in the air across Johan's figure—"a disguise?"

Johan's back leaning against the doorframe: "Yes."

"The dress looks expensive."

"Perhaps too extravagant for a disguise."

With what he lacks with words, Tenma makes up with fingers. One step, two step, slowly shifting off the bed and long fingers then on sheets linger upon Johan's wig, clinging, and twisting just so it falls in tangles on the floor. And yes, with the lack of words, they meet with stares and breath hot on the fan-filtered air. Tenma's smell like old clothes and Johan's like burning wood, neither smells that register well with the other.

"You're always the one whose got the upper hand," Tenma says.

Johan, smiling now, challenging now, he says, "You used to chase me. Are you angry?"

It comes out short of breath—"no"—but Johan can take him with a single grin. _Take me, take me, but leave me_ _in one piece_ is a thought that rushes to Tenma's head as he his hand slides down Johan's back to the zipper he knows he'll find, and carefully his guides it down. Loose on him, the red dress falls to the ground around Johan's pale ankles.

Tenma thinks, _We've done this before. _

"That dress doesn't belong on the ground," Johan says. "One sin too many committed by the great and noble Dr. Tenma. Are we doing this again?" The same smile still plastered upon his lips, Johan looks and doesn't touch—he waits. Expecting.

And Tenma, with his choked routine, with the routine that has grown old and yet Johan with a certain sickness finds pleasure in, answers, "You make me do terrible things."

"I do not." Johan moves past Tenma, to the bed, sitting down, regally arched.

_He owns the room. _

"You act on your own, Dr. Tenma. You are married to sin."

The feelings he has towards the Antichrist in sun-dipped locks, fair skin and tailored suits, the feelings aren't love, they aren't hate: they are dynamic, they are circumstance. They are the fate, which rely on each other, the white and black. Tenma and Johan are universal.

Tenma moves, long fingers, big hands, universal on Johan now, and he thinks, _It will never stop, it will never stop_. His shirt comes off while they touch, hands on hands, hands on bodies, bodies on bodies. Johan kisses him, because he knows it scares Tenma. It scares him—it's Johan Liebert, it's the afterlife, it's Hell—and mostly, he needs it. The fear runs lustful in Tenma's belly, in his cock.

Their sex is always a fight.

When they fuck Johan is always whispering, "I will end you, I will end you."

Tenma burrows his face into Johan's neck, wet with sweat by now, and smooths his palm over Johan's cock, and Johan, grinning, grinning, takes the bottle of lub out of the bedside table's drawer, and presses it against Tenma's face until Tenma, breaking, takes it and says, "Alright, okay."

The rhythm of which Tenma works Johan is eager and all along Johan's fingers play on shoulders like a piano. Tenma enters Johan like he always does, quick and without looking at the man under him, eyes shutting out the monster, dark. As he fucks him, Tenma knows how the current Johan Liebert must look, hair tousled and lipstick smeared across alabaster and the grin of ruining. Johan with ruin him today.

"I will end you, I will end you."

And tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.


End file.
